Major Jack Starland decided to make his ambassadorial trip to the
Atlamalcan Republic by water instead of land, and to take as his
companion, Captain Guzman, though there would have seemed to be slight
choice between the two routes.
The Rio Rubio, flowing from the foot of the Andes, eastward to the
Atlantic, forks a few miles to the westward of Atlamalco, the two
branches reuniting twenty leagues to the eastward. The island thus
formed is twenty miles across the widest part, and tapers to the east
and west. As if nature aimed to provide for two distinct communities,
a precipitous mountain spur, which sprawls several hundred miles north
and south, ribs the territory almost mathematically in the centre, and
tumbles onward, broken and disjointed, to the shores of the Caribbean
Sea. The rumors that gold and diamonds are awaiting garnering in the
wild solitudes have roused the earth hunger of more than one powerful
nation, but the grim dragon that crouches in the pulsing jungles, on
whose forehead flames the legend, "MONROE DOCTRINE," sends them
scudding back across the seas.
The western half of the island forms the Republic of Atlamalco, whose
President and Dictator is General Pedro Yozarro; the eastern half
constitutes Zalapata, with General Fernando de Bambos at its head. The
name "republic," as applied to the peppery provinces has as much
appropriateness as if given to Russia or China. The respective
population of the two republics is about the same, and but for the
whimsical, intense jealousy that is the most marked peculiarity of
South American countries, the two might grow rich, prosperous and of
considerable strength, for no region on the globe is more favored in
the way of climatic and natural resources.
Major Starland understood the delicate tensity of the relations
between Zalapata and Atlamalco. They had been at war before, with the
advantage at times on one side and then on the other, the final result
being no decisive change in their mutual strength or in their
combative propensities. The addition of a "gunboat" to the power of
Atlamalco naturally made her more aggressive and demonstrative.
President Bambos dreamed of acquiring two similar engines of war, when
he would proceed to wipe his hated rival off the earth; but the loan
which he tried to float remained inert and the northern barbarians,
whose shipyards send forth most of the navies of the world, insisted
upon cash or security as preliminary to laying the keels of the
Zalapatan fleet. The project therefore hung fire. Though the craft
that roamed up and down the bifurcated river was referred to as a
gunboat, it was simply an American tug, some seventy-five feet in
length, of the same tonnage and with a single six-pounder mounted fore
and another aft. From New York it had sneaked southward, so far as
possible, through the inland passage to the Gulf of Mexico and then
puffed across the Caribbean and so on to the Rio Rubio and thence to
its destination.
As intimated, Major Starland had the choice of two routes to the
western Republic: one by mule path or trail through the Rubio
Mountains, and the other by boat, fifty miles up the Rio Rubio: he
chose the latter.
On the morning following the council of war, he and his swarthy
friend, Captain Guzman, hoisted sail on their little catboat, at the
wharf of the capital, and catching the favoring breeze, curved out
into the stream, which was half a mile wide, and began their voyage
against a moderate current. Old campaigners like them needed little
luggage. The native officer took none at all, while the Major's was in
a small hand bag, which he had brought from his yacht, twenty miles
away at San Luis.
The American seated himself at the stern, where he controlled the
tiller, while the native lounged on the front seat smoking his eternal
cigarette. Behind them the pretty little capital, with its five
thousand inhabitants, distributed mostly in adobe huts, shabby and of
small dimensions, gradually sank out of sight, and finally vanished
behind a bend in the river. To the right, stretched the immense
undulating plain of exuberant forest, with its tropical luxuriance,
its smothering climate and its overwhelming animal life. The banks on
either hand were flat, and so low that a continuous east wind often
brought an overflow of the shores for leagues inland. Here and there
the bamboo or adobe hut of a native peeped from the rank foliage, and
the naked or half-dressed occupants stared stupidly at the craft as it
skimmed past. The head of the family lolled on the bank, or in the
shade beside his home and smoked; the stolid wife slouched hither and
thither like an automaton, plodding at her work or perhaps scratching
the ground, that it might laugh a harvest, though oftener her work lay
in fighting off the prodigious growth which threatened to strangle
everybody and everything. She took her turn at smoking, while the
youngsters, most of them without a thread of clothing, frolicked and
tumbled in the simple delight of existence. But all these were such
common sights to the voyageurs that they gave them no more than
passing attention.
Captain Guzman was not a talkative man. He preferred to lounge, to
smoke, to fight, or to think. Major Starland had plenty of thinking to
do and little work. Having guided the craft out into the middle of the
stream, he rested the tiller between his elbow and side and held the
boat to its course, while he also lazily puffed at his cigar. He
glanced from side to side, like one who was familiar with the scenery
and he figured out that if the breeze held, they would reach Atlamalco
early on the morrow, for he did not mean to continue the voyage after
darkness had set in.
No one, however, can sail for a mile over the tropical waters of South
America without a striking experience with its myriad animal life. The
swarms of fish often clog the progress of vessels. Numerous tiny
thumps against the prow of the boat told of the miniature collisions,
and, looking over the side, the American saw more fish than water.
They varied in length from a few inches to a couple of feet or more.
Recognizing one vicious species, he caught up a pole and thrust an end
into the current. Instantly fierce snaps followed, and when he drew
out the dripping stick, its extremity was gouged as if with dagger
stabs.
"What little demons those caribs are!" he said, holding up the pole
for the Captain to see. The native nodded his head and silently smoked
on. Had either of them trailed his hand in the current alongside the
boat, a finger would have been nipped off in a flash by those
concentrated sharks.
There was a rush like that of the Atlamalcan tugboat and an immense
alligator surged up from the muddy depths, and kept pace with the
craft, as though tied to it. His piggish eyes surveyed the two men as
if meditating the crushing of the boat and its occupants in one
terrific crunch, like the hippopotamus of the Nile. He partly opened
and smacked his jaws, in anticipation, and slightly increasing his
speed, passed forward to the prow.
Finally Captain Guzman showed an interest in matters. Sitting up, he
drew his revolver from the belt around his waist, aimed quickly and
fired. The bullet darted into the nearer eye and ripped through what
little brain the saurian possessed. With a snort, it whirled, darted
several rods out into the stream, and then spun round and round, as if
caught in the vortex of a whirlpool. Slight in one sense as was the
wound, it was mortal and quickly drew the attention of other
alligators, who seemed to be projected upward from the ooze of the
river, and assailed their unfortunate comrade with remorseless
ferocity. In a twinkling he was torn piecemeal by the cannibals,
whose taste of blood set aflame their rapacity. Had they known enough
they might have smashed the boat with their tails or rolled it over
with their snouts; but, unaware of their own strength, they kept up
their wild darting to and fro and were soon left behind.